Thursday, March 8, 2012


He lays here, still. 

My usually active two-year old baby.

Now, watching his favorite Thomas episode.

Feverish and sick.

His head's on my pillow and he's covered with my blankets.

I sit next to him. 

It breaks my heart a little to see him feeling so bad. 

It heightens my anxiety, too - this 104 degree fever.

Fifteen minutes ago, he clung to me saying "Hot, Mom, Hot" over and over again. He was burrowing into my arms, just wanting to be held.

Giving him the Motrin was just as hard for him as it was for me. 

Giving him hugs much easier.

So I held him close after, wishing my hug, like magic would just heal him, and he fell asleep in my arms.

He's beginning to squirm a little, kicking his feet.

Good, the Motrin must be working.

A gleam of light in the midst of anxiety.

But being the Mama I am, I continue to sit by his side.